


No way to breathe easy

by PygmyPyromaniac



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018), The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, I borrowed patroclus' sense of humor from hades, M/M, No graphic violence but people do die, Trojan War, and pat isn't seen or described as dead but he is at one point, this is mostly just banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29645355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PygmyPyromaniac/pseuds/PygmyPyromaniac
Summary: Patroclus let out an agitated huff from behind his shield. “We are surrounded.”
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time publishing or really writing fanfiction, but I wrote this little idea a while ago and thought I might as well share it. The title is from the song "Crazy On You" by Heart, which I find pretty fitting.

Patroclus does not hate warfare, but he does not revel in it like some. It is much the same as cleaning or cooking or running to him. The satisfaction of having it done is much more the reward than the act itself.

Perhaps it was arrogant of him to see death as a chore, but the years of it has worn down its edges, like a stone against the ocean. Even kind-hearted Patroclus is not immune to the calluses of war.

And it is this, perhaps, why he sounded much more annoyed than concerned at their current predicament.

Patroclus let out an agitated huff from behind his shield. “We are surrounded.”

Achilles kicked the body skewered on his sword to the ground. They stood a mere foot away from one another, back to back.

Through clenched teeth, Achilles spoke louder than he needed to, even in the din of war. “I can _see_ that.”

“Oh, you want to take that tone with me?” Patroclus battered a man back with the edge of his shield before slashing him across the belly, the trojan falling heavy as the spirit leaves his bones. “I’m not the one who _ran ahead_ even after promising he wouldn’t _do that anymore_.”

“Well _apologies-_ “ Achilles killed two men with a single stroke of his sword, stepping in tandem with Patroclus in a tight circle. “- that I didn’t slow my gait for you, _old man_.”

“Wha- I am your elder by two years!”

“It seems much vaster than that with how much you bring it up, O’ wisened one!” Achilles took a few paces forward to push back the spearmen advancing on them.

Patroclus takes in a breath to protest, maybe even to bring up how _it was your own father who begged me to keep you in line_ , but loses the breath in his chest, and is only able to utter a gasping “ _Achilles-_ “

The prince whips his head to the call, and can see the arrow flash against the sunlight, soaring in a perfect arc as to make a home in Achilles’ heart, before it is caught by Patroclus’ lunging shield.

There is a heartbeats moment that hangs there, and though they do not meet eyes from under their bronze helms, they see each other.

They return to each other’s flanks, shields raised and blades poised for death, which they readily bring, Achilles in sweeping arcs of blood, and Patroclus in the restrained precision of a surgeon.

Achilles face cracks in a lopsided grin that is much too fond. “What would I do,” he whispers, “Without you at my back?”

“I’m not sure,” Patroclus’ voice is lilting and sardonic, “You do so enjoy having me at your backside.”

Achilles’ sharp bark of laughter could be heard from the archers along Troy’s walls, and startles them.

* * *

Achilles once loved warfare, but that seems to have faded, along with his ability to taste and sense the passing of time. He has a hard time remembering now what had thrilled him about combat so much.

He had loved a challenge, but there wasn’t much to be found on the battlefield for Achilles. After the first few months at Troy, Achilles had even tried to make it a bit harder on himself just to alleviate some of the monotony. The prince had well reached the age of manhood, but in many ways was still just a boy. One eye closed, then one hand free, a dagger replaced his gladius, and he would have escalated as to leave his helmet behind if Patroclus hadn’t discovered his little game and became furious with him. The fight they had was loud and petulant (on the side of Achilles) and ended with an air of resigned exasperation (on the side of Patroclus).

“I suppose I can never leave you be on the battlefield now, can I?” Patroclus gave a long suffering sigh, standing arms crossed before Achilles who, now that the tension has been cleared from the air, lounged on a low chair in their tent.

“You will find some way to distract me, I’m sure.” Achilles purred as he pulled Patroclus closer by the hips. 

The son of Menoitius did not uncross his arms, though a small reluctant smile cracked his hard-set mouth. After a moment he gave up all airs of disappointment and relaxed into Achilles’ touch. The anger he was shaking with earlier had left him, and all he was left with was the sickly fear that fueled it all. Now he just wanted to hold the stupid, stupid man that kept his heart.

“Ah yes,” Patroclus dryly intoned as he swung his legs onto either side of Achilles’ thighs, settling into his lap “I shall ride into battle armed only with rotten fruit as to pelt you with periodically.”

Achilles’ scrunched his nose “Why rotten fruit specifically?”

“So you would actually dodge it.”

Achilles rubbed his hands up and down Patroclus’ sides. “Daily I am covered in gore, touching refuse does not frighten me.”

“Ah, apologies, from the state of our tent when you are left to your own devices I had assumed you were deathly averse.”

Achilles silenced Patroclus’ snickering (at his own joke, the ass) with a kiss, and they didn’t speak much more for a while after that.

* * *

The laughter this memory wrings out from Achilles is wilting and hollow, but it is the most joy he has felt in what feels like eons. _Just a boy_ , he thinks, gazing around the tent that was once their home, now littered with overturned furniture and rotting, untouched food. Even with Hector returned to his father and Patroclus burned, Achilles chased away any who came near, like a dog biting at nothing.

_Still just a boy_.


	2. Chapter 2

Along the walls of Troy, at the shoulder of the chaos bringing prince Paris, the stories say there was a god standing with him to guide his arrow. This is a lie. There were two.  
Paris’ arm shook with the tension needed to keep his bow drawn. Despite his own skill and the aid of the god who strikes from afar, the whirling mass of death and destruction that was once the prince of Phthia left no openings to strike.

Even half starved and fully mad, Achilles’ limbs would not allow death to come an inch near him. Grace in battle was etched into his bones the moment he was born. There was no cure for this.

Sweat stung Paris’ eyes and the shining arrow burned black into his vision and in his fingertips, but he could not falter or pause for even a moment, could not miss his opportunity. Alexandros. _My name means defender of men,_ he thought, _for once please let me do so._

But as is tradition in his family, it is the gods who must give the final opening.

Just as the shining god of song and prophecy lifted the drawn arrow tip with the slightest touch of his fingernail, the mistress of love and all of its madness carried her voice across the great distance to Achilles’ ear.

_“Achilles.”_

In that moment, Achilles heard many things.  
He heard a rasping voice, first thing in the morning when they both knew they needed to wake but dreaded doing so.  
He heard his name like a sharp slap across the face after doing something so foolish, _it is a wonder you are a man grown and not still just a boy!_  
He heard a call to bed, a call to his side.  
A cry in pleasure, and a cry in sorrow.  
He heard his name said, exasperated and fond, but really it was Patroclus saying _I love you._

His battle hewn bones were powerless to do anything but turn to that voice that was burned into his very soul.

Paris released the arrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow did I say a few days apparently I meant one. I realized as I was writing this I should have spaced this out to three separate chapters to keep the flow and word count per chapter consistent but hey first try you learn some things.
> 
> Anyway come find me on Tumblr if you feel so inclined.
> 
> also comment and let me know what you think, I'd like to get better at writing and would be happy to receive any criticism you have.

**Author's Note:**

> I love TSOA, but I always thought it would have been interesting if Patroclus was explored as an empathetic character - who may even dislike killing - who was still a very skilled warrior like he was in The Iliad. I don't get to much into that other than on the surface but maybe I will write more on those ideas later. We shall see.
> 
> I have some ideas for a second chapter to wrap things up, but my University just reopened after the terrible weather so that might take a few days.  
> Let me know what you think!  
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/tandemunicycle)


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